Shatered Heart
by Draven Nightly
Summary: a tangent on the world of darknes. Vincent a technicratic created Dahmphir, Rahab an asamite antitribue. see what happens when two things that should not be colide. R
1. Default Chapter

Shattered

Heart

A World of Darkness Novel

Tangent Series

By Draven Nightly and Evan Owens

Prelude

The Father of Us All

And I first-born Caine, I, with sharp things, planted the dark seeds wet them, in earth tended them, watched them grow. And Abel, second-born Abel, tended the animals, aided their bloody births, fed them, and watched them grow.

I loved him, my Brother. He was the brightest, the sweetest, and the strongest. He was the first part of all my joy.

Then one day our Father said to us. "Caine, Abel to Him Above you must make a sacrifice - a gift of the first part of all that you have."

And I, first-born Caine, I gathered the tender shoots, the brightest fruits, the sweetest grass And Abel, second-born, Abel slaughtered the youngest, the strongest, the sweetest of his animals.

On the altar of our Father, we laid our sacrifices and lit fire under them and watched the smoke carry them up to the One Above

The sacrifice of Abel, second-born, smelled sweet to the One Above, and Abel was blessed. And, I, first-born Caine, I was struck from beyond by a harsh word and a curse, for my sacrifice was unworthy.

I looked at Abel's sacrifice, still smoking the flesh, the blood. I cried. I held my eyes. I prayed in night and day, and when Father said "The time for Sacrifice has come again."

And Abel led his youngest, his sweetest, and his most beloved to the sacrificial fire. I did not bring my youngest, my sweetest; for I knew the One Above would not want them.

And my brother, beloved Abel said to me "Caine, you did not bring a sacrifice, a gift of the first part of your joy, to burn on the altar of the One Above."

I cried tears of love as I, with sharp things, sacrificed that which was the first part of my joy, my brother.

And the Blood of Abel covered the altar and smelled sweet as it burned, but my Father, Adam, first created by God, said "Cursed are you, Caine, who killed your brother. As I was cast out so shall you be."

And He exiled me to wander in Darkness, the land of Nod.

Michael, General of Heaven, wielder of the holy Flame, said unto me,

"Son of Adam, Son of Eve, thy crime is great, and yet the mercy of my Father is also great. Will you not repent the evil that you have done, and let his mercy wash you clean?"

And I said to Michael, "Not by _the One Above_'s grace, but mine own will I live, in pride."

Michael cursed me, saying "Then, for as long as you walk this earth, you and your children will fear my living flame and it will bite deep and savor your flesh."

Raphael spoke, saying "Caine, son of Adam, son of Eve, your brother Abel forgives you your sin. Will you not repent, and accept the mercy of the Almighty?"

And I said to Raphael "Not by Abel's forgiveness, but mine own, will be forgiven."

Raphael cursed me, saying "Then, for as long as you walk this earth, you and your children will fear the dawn, and the sun's rays will seek to burn you like fire where ever you hide always. Hide now for the Sun rises to take its wrath on you."

Uriel spoke to me quietly, saying "Son of Adam. Son of Eve. God Almighty has forgiven you your sin. Will you accept his mercy and let me take you to your reward, no longer cursed?

And I said to dark-winged Uriel, "Not by God's mercy, but my own, will

I live. I am what I am, I did what I did, and that will never change."

And then, through dread Uriel God Almighty cursed me, saying. "Then, for as long as you walk this earth, you and your children will cling to Darkness. You will drink only blood. You will eat only ashes. You will be always as you were at death, never dying, living on. You will walk forever in Darkness; all you touch will crumble into nothing, until the last days."

The archangel Gabriel said unto me, "Son of Adam, Son of Eve, behold, the mercy of the Father is greater than you can ever know, for even now there is a path opened a road of Mercy and you shall call this road _Golconda_. And tell you children of it, for by that road may they come once again dwell in the Light."

When my energies first surged through me, I discovered how to move like lightning _Celerity_, how to borrow the strength of the earth _Potence_, how to be as stone

_Fortitude_. These were like breathing once was to me.

Lilith, (_The Lady of Night_) then showed me how she hides herself from hunters _Obfuscate_, how she commands obedience _Dominate_, and how she demands respect _Presence_.

Then, Awakening myself further, I found the way to alter forms _Protean_, the way to have dominion over animals _Animalism_, and the way to make eyes see sight _Auspex_

But Caine grew lonely in his Power. Deep within him, the seed of loneliness blossomed, and grew a dark flower. He saw within his blood the potence of fertility. He learned the way to make a child for his own.

And, lo, Uriel, Dread Uriel, revealed himself to Caine that very night and said to him,

"Caine, though powerful you are, and marked of God, know you this: that any Childe you make will bear your curse, that any of your Progeny will forever walk in the Land of Nod, and fear flame and sun, drinking blood only and eating ashes only.

"And since they will carry their father's jealous seed, they will forever plot and fight amongst themselves. Doom not those of Adam's grandchildren who seek to walk in righteousness. Caine! Stay your dread Embrace!"

And so, it came to pass that Caine beget Enoch and, did Enoch beg for a brother, a sister, and Caine, indulgent Father, gave these to him, and their names were Zillah, whose blood was most-favored of Caine, and Irad, whose strength served Caine's arm.

And then wise Caine said. "An end to this crime. There shall be no more."

And as Caine's word was the law, his Brood obeyed him.

Then came the great Deluge, a great flood that washed over the world. Again, Caine fell into great sorrow and went into solitude.

And he left us, his Progeny, to our own ends. We found him, after much searching, deep in the earth, and he bade us go, saying that the Flood was a punishment, for his having returned to the world of life and subverting the true law.

He asked us to go, so that he might sleep.

So we returned alone to find the children of Noah, and announced that we were the new rulers.

Each created a Brood, in order to claim the glory of Caine, yet we did not have his wisdom or restraint.

A great war was waged, the Elders against their Children, just as Uriel had said.

And the Children slew their parents.

They brought in the Kingship Clan _Ventrue_, the Clan of the Beast _Gangrel_, the Moon Clan _Malkavian_, the Clan of the Hidden _Nosferatu_, the Wanderer Clan _Ravnos_, the Clan of the Rose _Toreador_, the Night Clan _Lasombra_, the Clan of Shapers _Tzmisces_, the Snake Clan _Setites_, the Clan of Death _Cappadocians_, the Healer's Clan _Salubri_, the Clan of the Hunt _Assamites_, and the Learned Clan _Brujah_.

_Caine_ cursed _Malkav_, when that one defamed his image, and doomed him, and therefore his brood of Malkavians, to insanity, forever.

When _Nosferatu_ was found indulging his tastes in foul ways with his own Children, _Caine_ laid his hand on _Nosferatu_, told him that he would forever wear his evil, and twisted his visage.

He cursed us all, for killing the first part of his Children, the Second Generation, as we had hunted them down one by one, Zillah the Beautiful, Irad the Strong, and Enoch First-Ruler.

And none will say when Caine will arise again, from his sleep in the earth, and call for the city Gehenna, the Last City, the City of Judgment.

The Book of Nod

The Chronicle of Caine


	2. ch 1 The man and the prisoner

Chapter 1

The Man and the Prisoner

The underground hallways of the timeless mansion echoed with the footsteps of their master. The moss-covered brick walls whispered of the being that had wandered them for untold hundreds of years. To him, these halls were his home; he knew them better than he knew himself.

But then, he mused, when one lives for centuries, one finds more of himself to know than he can imagine, or wants to imagine.

He had no real need for lighting down here, but his servants didn't know these corridors as well as he did. To accommodate, he had lights put in, replacing the torches of long ago, but to exercise the superiority he enjoys over his hirelings, he left the halls dimly lit, as though it were only the light of the moon, or that of the occasional torch that was guiding the wary or unwary traveler through these dark hallways.

He stopped at a great steel-bound door, where one of his human servants awaited him, armed with only his shotgun.

"Open it."

His commanding voice echoed through the halls, hanging with air of absolute control. He knew that he had all of his servants under his heel, and enjoyed making them squirm at will.

The human shuddered at the thought. The one they had brought in the previous night for questioning was more than a handful. He actually wondered if this titanium-reinforced door could possibly hold him back.

"Do _not_ make me repeat myself."

The human nodded, bowed and quickly opened the giant door. He did not want to displease his master again. He remembered well what happened last time.

The man walked through, commanding the human to close the door behind him.

After the boom of the door being closed and locked subsided, the man was aware of the sound of Ashley's persuasion techniques. He had to hide a satisfied grin. Ashley was his best persuasive underling yet. She could beat, rather, get information out of anyone. He was happy with his selection.

Passing the remains of a few of his former informants, their gore lining the chamber walls, he came upon the cell of his newest captive.

He pushed the steel door to the cell open. Apparently, Ashley had used her bare knuckles. Not a technique she normally used. She had lots of playthings that she knew how to use in ways he had never imagined. She only used her fists when she was frustrated.

This should prove interesting.

As Ashley moved away from the prisoner, bowing her head, he saw that she had hardly done any damage to him. Oh, various persuasion tools were littered all over the cell, blood covering every one of them, but aside from the massive scars across his face, the prisoner was barely harmed.

The prisoner was interesting enough, though, in his own right. At first, the man thought he was going mad. His highly-trained nose picked up the smell of the prisoner's blood immediately. Although most blood smells relatively alike, the kind of which that this prisoner's was, was unidentifiable.

The blood alone is not what made him think that he was going mad. He looked upon the prisoner and noted that every hair on his body was a bright blue, with a slight purple hue, almost translucent; a myriad of colors swirling across this man's body.

He also made mental note upon the fact of this man's size. A little short of eight feet in height and muscle-bound to suit, this man, or whatever he was, would make a valuable lackey.

The prisoner looked up at the man with great hatred. This must be the leader of these peons. Dressed in some sort of black, tailor-made suit, complete with red-trimmed cape and shoes that were almost reflective, he looked the part of the arrogant leader to these useless biddies.

"Finally, after all this wasted bullshit, the Big Fish appears." The prisoner spat a bloody mass on the man's shoe.

The man bent at the waist, his hands on his hips, and brought his face inches away from the prisoner's, a look of disdain painted across his features, his silver eyes digging into the prisoner's own steel-blues.

"What are you?"

The prisoner smiled a satisfied smile. "Ah. That one's a little hard to explain."

"We both seem to have a few centuries on our hands, I'm sure you can sum it up in that time." With that, the man snapped his fingers. An unseen retainer produced a dragon-capped walking cane, a chair and a tin of Alexandrian cigarettes.

The prisoner sat back in his chair.

The man sat back in his.

"What do you want to know?" The prisoner asked.

The man sighed. This was going to be tedious. This man was going to have to be picked apart. A giant; the only way to be taken down is piece by piece. He considered for a moment to call forth one of his Ventrue servants to Dominate this prisoner, but he had a feeling that this was going to be fun.

Opening the tin with a flick of his left wrist, he drew out a cigarette, tapped off any excess tobacco, and put it to his mouth.

"Well," he said, while pulling the cane to the tip of the cigarette and using the lighter concealed in the dragon, "let's start with what you're not."

The prisoner smiled. This was an obvious waste of his time, but he hadn't the ability to let anyone know what he was yet. He was anxious to tell this pompous asshole, and look into his face as he squirms.

"You are obviously not human, and if you were Kindred, I would have been able to smell it in your blood, although you seem to have the healing abilities of any vampire I have ever met."

"You're getting closer."

"Well, you're certainly not Fae, and you're not a Hunter, because they're human,"

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"You're also not dead. That rules out Mummy or Wraith."

"You're just a ball of knowledge, aren't you?"

The man ignored the comments.

"You could be a Were-creature of some variety, but if you were, you would have broken your bonds long ago."  
"Not if I were having fun.

"You don't know what I am, or what I'm capable of. Admit it. You're about as smart as that boob that brought you that fancy chair. Let me see if I can figure out what _you_ are not. You are not intelligent, you are not…"

The prisoner was struck from the side by Ashley.

"You will not speak of my master that way."

The prisoner growled and looked up at her, but otherwise remained silent.

"Well, where was I? Ah, yes. And, since you are not human, you can't be a Mage, can you?"

The prisoner started, anger showing as lightning in his eyes.

Duly noted, thought the man. Duly noted.

"Well, what does that leave us?"

"I don't know. You tell me. You seem to know about everything in this World of Darkness that we live in. Seems to me that you should have figured it out by now. So, what am I?"

"Oh, I'm sure you know. Whether or not you want to tell me is completely up to you, but remember," he crushed out his cigarette slowly and leaned ever so close to the prisoner's face, a mask of evil covering his fine features, "I can keep you down here a long, long time. No one will know where you are. My castle is secret, and this vault is over a mile underground. No one will hear you scream for blood. No one will even know that you existed. I will wipe your existence from this planet, and maybe your mother will remember you, but even that is doubtful. Do you understand?"

The prisoner snapped his jaws at the man, and then grinned, showing his oversized canines.

"Well," the man said, leaning back into his chair, acting very debonair as he lit another cigarette, "Let's start again, shall we? I am a vampire, one of the thirteen major Clans of Caine. You, sir, are not a vampire, but neither are you mortal. This is something I have not come across yet, so I ask again, what are you?"

"Have you ever been to Japan?"

"You know, it is rude to answer a question with a question, but I will humor you. Yes, I have been to Japan once. I will never go back."

"I see, then, that you have met the Kindred of the East? If you have any knowledge of them whatsoever, then you have heard of the race of vampires known as Dhampyrs."

A look of utter horror drew itself across the man's otherwise placid features. He recoiled inward, almost as though he were shown the business end of a cannon.

He dropped his cigarette.

"You don't mean to tell me that you are of the Kuei-jin? A Dhampyr? Impossible! Dhampyrs are legend. They don't exist. Tales made up to tell to neonates and fledglings to keep them in line. They don't exist." He said, with much more determination than he felt.

A Dhampyr: half human, half vampire. No. This can't be. He must be lying.

"No," the prisoner said, satisfaction dancing in his eyes, "the simple idea of being a Dhampyr would be too easy. They are weak, dull, and otherwise useless. I am not a Dhampyr, but neither am I human or Kindred. I am the only one of my kind. I am simply Shadeart."

Nothing could have prepared the man for this new information. He had been tracking this Shadeart by his kills alone for months. Now, he has gotten somewhere. He quickly re-composed himself, drew his tin again, and opening it, offered one to the prisoner, who accepted the offer gratefully.

After lighting his own, he laid his cane across his lap. Time to change tactics. His mother had always told him that flies like sugar more than vinegar. Since vinegar wasn't working, he had to switch to sugar.

"Now, Shadeart, let's start this again, only in a civil manner."  
"Never mind that I am still chained."

"That cannot be helped. You are too dangerous for me to just let you go."

With that, Shadeart pulled the manacles from the wall, broke his bonds and sat in his chair like a king, smoking his cigarette.

Un-amused, the man said, "Well, I guess that solves that problem for you. As I was saying, my name is Rahab Alexia. I am king and Prince of this castle and all the surrounding holdings. I hail from eastern Arabia, but you couldn't tell from my accent. I spent hundreds of years traveling the globe, learning new languages and new cultures. As my knowledge of languages grew, my accent became more mottled."

"You sound retarded. Enough about your crappy, fake accent; you are a boob, and like all other boobs, you want to make yourself feel superior to all others that you consider beneath yourself. You travel, and tell everyone about it. You, Mr. Rahab," Shadeart made a mock bow, "are the biggest waste of blood I have ever met, and I am sorry that I have spent this much time here." The prisoner stood to leave, but Rahab held up his hand, smoke dancing from the cherry of the cigarette.

"Fine, you have made your point. Why don't you tell me more, but this time from the beginning? I am interested to hear your tale. Remember that I could have had you Dominated, so think of this as an honor."

The prisoner smiled to himself. "Dominated." He chuckled. "Okay. I'll play your game, but only because it suits me to. I will remind you that I can crush your puny little body to blood soup if I wanted to, and these little servants of yours won't be able to do a damn thing. Are we at an understanding?" Rahab nodded. "Good.

"My name when I was born was Vincent Techoncy. You, sir, may call me Vincent." Rahab noted, too, that the head of the Technocracy's name was Techoncy, a vile, evil Mage that enjoyed genetic experimentation. "I was born into wealth and power, but after I found out my father's political standpoint, I deserted my family, and became a contract killer.

"Many years later, my father saw fit to abduct me. After many, many genetic enhancements, I awoke in a tank full of blood. I was what you see me now; half-human, half-vampire. Not quite a Dhampyr, but not either of the other races.

"Now, I hunt. Vampires are the scourge of the planet. I also hunt the Technocracy. My father is still their head, but he has seen to it that I know nothing of where they are.

"Now that you know what I am, I am leaving. You are of no use to me. You have no contract, and I do not make pacts with Kindred."

"Well, then." Rahab said, holding the now-dead cigarette, "You are most certainly something. I do have one question, though. The Brujah named John North. Was he your first contract?"

"Who are you babbling about?"

"The Brujah with two feet of table leg sticking out of his chest?"

"Ah, yes. That one. He had a name? Hm. He never introduced himself. No. He was a barroom brawl. An accident. He and I shared differences of opinion, and I showed him that mine was right. That's all, although he was my first kill since my," a hint of sorrow played itself in his eyes for a moment, but was quickly replaced with almost reflective coolness, "since my transformation."

"I see. Well, then. That answers my next question. Well," Rahab stood, looking Vincent squarely in the eye, "I have some good news. I feel that you are more valuable to me alive than dead. You can leave if you want, but you will be dead long before you get out of the complex. Better to be my lackey than dead, eh?"

"I am no one's 'lackey'."

"Of course not. You will be, um…my best contract killer. A person of your obvious ability and stamina could be of great service to me."

"Do I get to kill you in the end?"

"Perhaps."

"Good." And Vincent started for the door.

He was stopped short at the threshold by a thin sword blade suddenly flashing across his face. He followed it to see that it was Rahab who held it, the dragon of his walking staff acting as the handle.

"Do not make me regret this decision. Although you may be stronger than me, you would still die from having your head become no longer an attached part of your body."

Never stopping his stare into Rahab's eyes, he grabbed the blade with his left hand and snapped it like a dry twig.

"Let's get one thing straight, and let's get it straight right now. I do not like you, and I do not trust you. I only follow you because I live by a simple aphorism: 'It is better to keep a viper at arm's length than to let it go and not know where it will strike.' You are a dangerous viper, and the only way to know where you are is to work for you."

Vincent started down the hallway, leaving Rahab to only stare after him, his jaw agape in wonder.

No one can break a folded blade.

"Oh, by the way," Vincent said over his shoulder, pausing in his walk, "I'm right-handed."


	3. Ch 2 Rahab and Vincent

Chapter 2

Rahab and Vincent

The owl looked down the bookshelves for some sort of prey. Something was moving down there. Maybe it wasn't prey. Maybe it was. It swooped down, passing endless shelves and saw its master. It screeched to get his attention, its hunger now forgotten. The man looked up, his eyes reflecting the moonlight.

Landing, it proceeded to tell the man everything it knew. There was a party going on in his house, there were very few mice in the area, and the big man in the twenty-fifth room on the fifth story was still showering.

Rahab let the owl go out the aviary dome of his library. Although he had this structure built back in 1643, he never stopped marveling at it. This three-and-a-half story behemoth of knowledge, filled wall-to-wall with books. Everything, ranging from newer works by Koontz and King, back to L'Amoure, Shakespeare and even one of the few original translations of the Holy Bible lined these shelves. In here, it was silent. In here, he was free.

He walked thoughtfully over to his desk that he had drudged up from the Dead Sea and sat down. Lighting a cigarette, he started to form a plan in his mind.

A few minutes later, he hit a buzzer on his desk. Instantly, two men walked through the door and began ambling around the oblong pillar of bookshelves that stood in the center of the circular library.

The first, looking like he just came out of a punk concert, wore tight, plaid jeans with combat boots and a dirty white Anarchy shirt with a nametag that said "Hello, I am the Captain"

Looking past the exceedingly tall pink Mohawk of the first, he saw the second. This man was dressed as he normally dressed: tight leather jeans, long-chain wallet and walking like he just got done riding a horse.

Rahab shook his head. They get the job done. That's all that matters.

"Ah, Steveoh. Sixty. Do please come in. I have a job for you."

With that, he got up and walked to the wall behind his desk, selecting a silver short-sword from the medieval armory that lined the library baseboards.

"Steveoh, I want you to sell this." Steveoh grinned. "No, not to just anyone, although I'm sure your friends would very much like a blade forged by a Werewolf. It's to be sold only to the Mafia runner, Tony Fingers. He'll pay anything you ask. He'll give it to his boss as some sort of arcane weapon. Keep the money. I have no need of it."

The Mohawk barely missed Rahab as the punk bowed graciously while accepting the sword, piercings jangling in the process.

"Sixty, I need your security and computer expertise. The one brought in last night, Vincent, will be in need of his personal effects. I need you to acquire them."

"Security is never an issue with Sixty." Sixty said, holding up a plain box in his hand and smiling like he just stole something.

"Yes, yes. That's why I asked you. Now please go. I have work to get done. Oh, and Sixty, stop eating the mice. The owls are getting hungry."

Sixty bowed, his long, red hair covering his face, and they exited, momentarily bringing in the smoke and noise of the rave that seemed to be constantly happening on his lower, ground-level, then slammed the door behind them, leaving the library in silence.

Rahab pulled out his chair, sat down, flung his feet on top of his desk, lit a cigarette and took a long, thoughtful drag.

"This should prove to be most interesting." He said, to no one in particular.

†-†-†

Vincent stood in the shower that Rahab had supplied him, watching his own blood run down the drain, much like how he had watched his wife's so long ago.

The horrible memory came to him as though it had all happened yesterday.

Waiting in the groom's chambers for the happiest moment in his life to happen, there came a knock on the door.

"My love, you're not supposed to see me until the actual ceremony." He said with a smile, opening the door.

The smile died on his lips. It was not his bride, but three men, dressed in fine Italian suits.

"May I help you?"

"Are you the one called Vincent Techoncy?"

His face darkened.

"Who wants to know?"

"We were sent here by your father. He wishes to give you his blessing on your wedding day."

"I want nothing to do with my father. He is an evil man. I want nothing to do with talking to him, and less to do with him talking to me. Go tell him that, and leave me alone."

That's when they grabbed him.

He shut off the water. Life isn't fair. What did he do to deserve this? He was a mostly good person. Hell; he was about to get married. What more could be asked? He saved a woman's life by breaching a contract, had a daughter with her, and just when he had decided to give up contracting and marry his love, they had to abduct him.

They would all pay, one by one; if only he knew where they were.

Someday, he thought, I will find out, and when I do, they will all pay.

Vincent looked around for a towel, hoping that Rahab had left one for him large enough. He detested using standard bath towels. Too small; he normally went through four or five of those.

Luckily, there was a pair of oversized beach towels there. After drying himself off, he walked into his provided bedroom and discovered, to his dismay, a perfectly fitted set of clothes set out for him. He made a mental note to discard these clothes at the first opportunity, as there was probably some sort of tracking system sewn into the threads.

While brushing his long, dark blue hair, someone knocked at the door. Vincent started, throwing his brush and going reflexively for his gun, which, he remembered, was not there.

Memories came back to him in a flood. Being taken, bound, gagged...not again.

No, he said to himself, this is not then. When, he thought, when will I wake up from this nightmare?

He composed himself, remembering that, although he was relatively safe here, he was in the house of the enemy.

He opened the door to find the stunning form of Ashley, dressed in her standard desert garb, most of her sensuous, dark body showing through, pushing a cart with chrome food covers.

"I'm not hungry. Go away."

"I'm not room service, and I'm not here to turn down your blankets either, asshole. This is the shit from your 'precious' bike." With that, she pushed the cart into the room, nearly knocking it over, turned and stalked off.

Vincent's hair turned dark purple, his eyes filled with sudden rage.

"BITCH! You do everything as you're told! I'm telling you to DIE!" With that, he opened up one of the serving trays, pulled out a knife and threw it at her. She quickly whipped around, snatched the knife by the handle, plucking it out of the air, flipped it to the blade side and threw it back. Vincent caught it in kind.

"Listen here, you arrogant asshole: I don't like you, and I would just as soon take that knife of yours and plunge it pommel-deep into your heart, but it seems that I have to put up with you for at least a bit longer. Rahab sees something in you that no one else does. I don't see what, but he never uses any contractor for very long before he has them eradicated. I'm looking forward to the day you are rendered useless, because it's my turn to send the lowlife into oblivion, and I am going to relish in doing it to you."

"Fuck you."

"If only I were ten minutes younger." and she stalked away.

Vincent noisily, but carefully, moved the serving tray into the room and slammed the door harder than he had intended, shaking the hinges. He sat down on the bed and put his face in his hands. Why, he thought, why can't I just let it all go? If only Brandon were here…

Brandon.

His bike.

The bastards! How did they get past the security system of his bike? It was custom made for and by him. Nothing can get past it. How did they get the saddlebags? For that matter, how in the hell did they get into the warehouse? ADT couldn't think up the security there. This was disturbing.

He walked over to the saddlebags and pulled out his laptop. At least THAT wasn't damaged, he thought. With that, he disconnected and threw the computer off the desk in his room, replacing it with his. He pulled out a little black box and connected the Internet through that, then to his computer.

"No one can hack through that. Not even Mr. Alexia." He chuckled.

After firing up the laptop and connecting the wireless headband monitor and microphone, he opened the HNIM system, praying that "Forgetful" was going to be on.

Thank God. At least he knew that Brandon was safe.

"You there?"

"Yeah. You're messaging me." Was the reply.

"Good. We need to talk. Get to the HN ASAP."

The Hunter Net: Something that he wished he had thought up. An organization of humans intent on hunting down and destroying vampires until they are all dust. That's a pretty big goal, so they concentrated on the main leaders for the moment, swapping information on their secure network so other Hunters have a better chance.

This is where he was now, in the exceedingly secure looking for an empty chat room.

"You there, Brandon?"

"Yeah. What the hell is so important? Where are you?"

"I haven't got the foggiest idea. Are you and Phelis OK?"

"Um, yeah…why wouldn't we be?"

"I'm not the one who came and got my bike."

Silence.

"So who _did_ come and get your bike?"

"Someone working for a Mr. Rahab Alexia, I'd imagine. He's apparently an Assamite, and a pompous one at that. He seems to have more money than he knows what to do with, and enjoys flaunting it while in his endless mansion. He also seems to have a more than passing interest in me. He knew my clothes size and where my bike was and how to get to it. Hell. He knew who my first vampiric kill was. Who knows what else he has gleaned about us and our operation?"

"I agree. It seems to me that we have to tighten our shit down good. Sounds like this Rahab character is pretty resourceful. By the way, you aren't on Hunter Net through a connection at his mansion, are you?"

"Yeah, but I'm using the Black Box. No one can get through that."

†-†-†

"Well, then. That was certainly educational." Rahab said, pushing in the main keyboard and turning away from the array of plasma-screen monitors, facing Ashley, "I always suspected he didn't work alone."

"I thought that would have been obvious. No one acquires that kind of hit list by himself." She moved behind him, caressing his shoulders, "Not even you, the great Rahab Alexia."

As she went to nuzzle into his neck, Rahab got up and paced, much to her dismay.

"What luck is this, that I not only get him, who just happens to be the son of the head of the Technocracy and recent bane of Kindred society, but also temporary access to the Hunter Net." He lit a cigarette and took a thought-filled drag. "Those damned Elders. They think they have it all figured out. 'Humans can't organize like that' they told me. 'The "Hunter Net" doesn't exist.' Yeah, well, I have seen it now. At least now I know whether or not I can expect any Hunters at my door."

"But your access was temporary," Ashley said, moving close to him again, "and don't you think that it was a little too easy, his logging on while on your network?"

"You read what he said.'I'm using the Black Box. No one can get through that.' He obviously didn't learn through his bike and warehouse that Sixty can get through anything."

A knock came from the door. Rahab shrugged Ashley off again and assumed the most calmly commanding pose he could.

"Enter."

Steveoh walked through the secret door that lead to the wall behind Rahab's desk in the library, a devilish grin plastered on his face.

"Job done. That idiot runner bought it up like a coke fiend. He probably gave it to that fat fuck Thromboni by now, and it's most likely halfway to the mother country on a jet."

Rahab grinned.

"Good. Take the rest of the night off. You have done very well.

"Ashley," he turned to her, her disappointment gone, replaced with new hope that he might say what she wanted so desperately to hear, "go down and check all of Vincent's weapons and whatnot into the Weapons Locker. Standard procedure."

She turned to go. That was definitely not what she wanted to hear.

"Oh, and Ashley, take the rest of the night off as well. You've earned it. Now go." He waved them both away, and soon the door slammed shut, the sound of books hitting the ground filled the room.

Rahab didn't hear it, however. He was too wrapped in thought. He sat back down in his chair, propped his feet up on top of his gargantuan desk and proceeded to finish his cigarette, strands and wisps of smoke dancing in the air.

"Let the games begin."


	4. Ch 3 Rahabs Manor

Chapter 3

Rahab's Manor

That next evening, Rahab awoke to the sounds of a fight. Looking outside through the stained-glass windows of his personal apartments, he saw a kid, a regular at his nightly raves, staked to a tree and three of his friends circling around Vincent.

Vincent, his bike knocked over beside him, had his stake gun pointed at the heart of another would-be victim.

Hoy, he thought, why so early? No good can come of this.

He got dressed and walked over to the tabletop that currently displayed his favorite pistols. Something big. Beretta? No. Not big enough. He grabbed the Desert Eagle, put it in his back holster and went outside, calling his servants Jake and John to help with the possible problem.

"What the hell is going on?" Rahab asked as he pushed open the double-doors that lead to his outer courtyard.

Immediately, all three remaining ravers started talking, pointing at Vincent and re-enacting how their friend was staked.

Annoyed, Rahab rolled his eyes, pulled the gun from behind his back and shot a few rounds in the air.

"Now that I have your complete attention," he said, pointing his pistol at all of them in turn, "I want one, and only one, of you to tell me what is going on."

One lad stepped forward.

"I'll tell you, Mr. Alexia," he pointed at Vincent and started screaming hysterically, "That blue-purple-or whatever-haired freak shot Billy with that stake gun! And for no apparent reason!" The other boys started cheering their comrade, all screaming at once, the whole mess sounding like chickens fighting.

Rahab rolled his eyes and shot the lead youngster in the chest.

The other two stopped, turned and watched the boy fall flat on his back. They then turned to Rahab, a look of shock on both of their faces.

"What? He'll be better by morning," he said, gesturing with his gun, "just give him some blood." His gaze and gun-sights fell on Vincent, who was now placing his bike back on its wheels and polishing the gas tank. "Now, Vincent, what happened?"

Vincent never looked up from his bike.

"You either stop pointing that thing at me, or I jam it squarely in a very uncomfortable place."

Rahab couldn't help thinking of a Volkswagen.

"Fine." Rahab lowered his gun, "Now will you tell me just what the hell this," Rahab swept his arm around, indicating the boy who was still lying on the ground, and the other, who was being helped by his friends off the tree, "is all about?"

"Well, you saw my friend, Mr. T-Bone, over there," he pointed behind his back to the boy who was staked, "he decided that it would be a good idea to try pissing me off. I don't get aggravated easily. When shouting unimaginative taunts didn't work, he kicked over my bike. That was not a good idea.

"My only thought was that this little punk didn't like his chosen career, so I chose a new one for him. The rest, I guess, are his friends, and they, apparently, don't like his new station in life."

Rahab looked at Vincent blankly, "So all of this was over some motorcycle?"

"Not just a motorcycle," Vincent said proudly, looking Rahab in the eye, "but a 1952 Harley-Davidson Panhead Custom Special. It's the only one like it in the world. It's got a 1200 cc/74 cubic inch FL-Edition Sportster V-Twin engine running a freshly rebuilt tranny and a fat back tire. See these fishtail pipes? Had them imported from Milwaukee, man. The seat? Custom made. I even have stronger springs and shocks in the forks and in the rear suspension to accommodate for my weight. Do you see that drive-chain? That drive-chain is a titanium alloy. I rebuilt the engine and tranny myself to put out extra torque so I can still catch you fast fuckers, and this is the only chain that won't break under that kind of pressure. The saddlebags that your lackeys took off were made especially for my reaching parameters, so I could more easily pull out my pump-action or stake gun.

"This bike is tits. Your shaved-and-trained monkeys were lucky that they didn't scratch this fine piece of art, otherwise they'd end up with that little bitch stapled to a tree."

Rahab continued to stare blankly. "Yeah. A motorcycle." He shook his head. "You need a woman. I'm going inside. John, Jake." With that, the three went inside, Rahab slamming the door behind him.

"What was that all about?"

Rahab looked up to see the lucious form of Ashley leaning over the rail of the second-story hallway.

"I'm still not entirely sure. Something about some bike and a kid knocking it over."

Sixty came running out of his rooms, holding a very worn teddy bear and a rubber chicken, wearing a faded pink nightgown. "You mean Vincent's '52 Panhead? Who knocked it over? Do we know them? I'll kick their ass!"

"Yes, we know him, but Vincent already staked him to a tree."

"Serves him right, the bastard."

"Yes, yes, he got what he deserved and whatnot. Vincent's outside the front door working on his bike now..."

Before Rahab could finish his sentence, Sixty sprinted into Steveoh's room, screaming at the top of his lungs. The next sound was Steveoh screaming back, hitting the floor and then something breaking.

Sixty then ran, still screaming, with his arms flapping, into his room and slammed the door.

Rahab and Ashley looked at the scene, then at each other, and then shook their heads.

Ashley decided that it would be a good idea to go up to her room. Halfway up the stairs, she ran into the groggy Steveoh, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his Mohawk more than a little disheveled.

She continued to her room.

Rahab shook his head. "John, please come here." the human walked cautiously over to his master. "I'm going up to my library before I get caught in tonight's rave. If anyone calls, forward it there." The servant bowed and went into the next room.

They're crying, he thought, those boobs are actually crying over that bike with the imported things, titanium whatnots and custom hoo-has.

Rahab walked back into the library from the balcony, looking up to the moonlit sky.

Why, oh why do I have to work with such idiots?

What was that? There's something on the third-story mezzanine. What is it?

"Hello-o. Is anybody there?"

His nightly messenger flapped from the book-lined balcony and flew down to Rahab, who raised his arm for it to perch upon.

Rahab stroked the bird tenderly, "Now, my dear, tell me what you see tonight."

The owl proceeded to tell him everything it had seen thus far: the geese had started flying south, tonight's party just started, there were man-beasts on the outer edge of the property and the mouse population was growing well.

Rahab thanked the owl, kissed its head and released it up to the aviary dome.

"Sounds like I have to accelerate my plans." he thought out loud, pressing the buzzer on his desk.

John walked through the door immediately.

"Yes, Master?"

"John? I wasn't expecting you...unless those two baboons are still bawling over that thing of Vincent's."

"No, sir, they are no longer crying over it." Rahab let out a small sigh of relief. "They have moved on to kissing it."

Rahab groaned.

"Get those three in here as soon as possible. I have a mission for them."

As John left, Rahab picked up the phone.

"Get me Tony Fingers. Tony, my friend. How are you doing? How did your boss like the gift? Great! Now, however, you need to do me a favor. I need you to lie for me."

Steveoh, Sixty and Vincent walked into the library, Sixty and Vincent deep in discussion.

"You gotta come down and see it, man. It's nothing like yours, but it's still cool. Yours is the only one I've seen cooler. I don't have all the neat, custom stuff you do, but I can proudly say that all the parts are original."

"Sounds great," Vincent returned, "I'll have to take a look. Maybe we can go riding after this mission. Brandon isn't much of a rider, he's more of a mechanic. I could use a riding buddy, especially one that rides an original Indian."

"Ahem," Rahab interrupted, "I'm sorry to interrupt such a meeting of the minds, but I'm sure that my mission is a bit more important than some pair of motorcycles." Rahab waited for absolute silence. "Thank you. Now, Vincent. I have need of your abilities." He slid a photograph across the desk.

Vincent looked at the picture. "The Great Clave of the Glass Walkers, forged by the first of that Lupine tribe. It was said to be lost in 1854 in a card game in San Antonio. It hasn't been seen since."

"In fact, it was August 31st, 1854," Rahab said, "and my winning hand was two small pair - nines and nines. He thought he had me beat with a straight flush. I heard he was later killed by his comrades for even betting it, let alone losing it. I guess werewolves don't take kindly to the frivolous waste of their artifacts, especially ones made by the progenitor of their species."

"So you mean to tell me that you have been holding this arcane artifact for, what, the last hundred and fifty years?"

"Yes, and two days ago, it was stolen from me. I want it back, and this," he punched a few numbers into a calculator, "is what I'm willing to pay you." He pushed the calculator over to Vincent, who looked at it, astonished.

"My, my. That's a whole lot of zeros." He pulled his laptop out of the saddlebag he brought with, "I guess I can do business with you in this venture. I merely need to know a couple things, first.

"Number one: is there a time-frame?"

"Unfortunately, there is, and a very tight one at that. A little birdie tells me that a sect of the tribe of werewolves known as the Get of Fenris wants this clave more than its original owners, their long-time rivals, the Glass Walkers. It seems that the Glass Walkers believe that whosoever possesses this clave rules the tribe.

"My source tells me that the Get of Fenris has finally figured out that I have it, and since I am not particularly partial to being ripped apart by lupines, I intend to deliver it to them."

"I don't want to know any more about your political agenda." Vincent said, "The less I know, the better.

"Secondly: if, along the way, I happen to kill a couple vampires that are not employed by you that I know of, I reserve the right to drain them completely of their blood, and thus, their soul, in the unlawful act of diablerie. Do you agree to this?"

"Only if you bring me a pint of their blood for myself."

"You must be kidding me. I'm no fool. You have to consume down to the very last drop to diablerize."

"No, no. You only have to consume _the_ last drop. You can drain a pint into a jar for me before you feed."

"Fine. Looks like we have a deal, then. I hope you don't mind, but the printer behind you is printing out my standard contract. Read it over if you like, but it's got no surprises. The only variables are your name, what you want me to do and how much you're going to pay me.

"What form of transport are we going to be using? I'm assuming that you are sending these two buffoons with me, and the three of us can't fit on my bike."

Rahab looked the contract over carefully, signing his name at the bottom.

"I will provide transportation. A modified Humvee with a bit of a sassy side named Sydney. Sixty will drive, as much as is needed, and you can bring one to two others of your choice. No more. Sydney will be told how many are to be coming, and will not allow any more on." He handed the signed contract to Vincent.

"You rich pricks and naming your freaking vehicles. I don't even have my bike named." He looked at the contract. "Nice signature. This is East Arabic, is it not? Looks like you spent a lot of time in the Iranian Desert."

"Why, yes. Thank you for noticing. And Sydney is a very special vehicle."

"And so is my bike, which I'm going to right now." He rose to leave. "I will see you for mission briefing at 10:00 tonight, Mr. Alexia."

With that, he walked out of the library.

While marching through the hallway, saddlebag slung over his shoulder, he ran into Ashley.

"You know, it isn't very often that he uses a person for more than one mission. He usually has them eliminated after their first."

"Oh, yeah? And how come you're still here?"

"Because I proved myself."

"Yeah, well, I don't intend to do that. I intend to do this job, and get the hell out of Rahab's service permanently, so you don't need to worry about my taking over the second-in-command position."

Ashley's eyes shot open, rage filling her. "Listen here, you half-breed! You couldn't do half of what I do for him! You are nothing but a walking accident waiting to happen! There's no way you could take my place, even if you tried! You don't know him the way I do! You can't carry out his orders before he gives them like I can! You don't lov-" she cut her sentence short, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Vincent bent down to see her at eye-level.

"I know that you think I'm a threat. I know that you feel for Rahab, and I also know that he barely notices you. You are nothing more than a servant to him. A good servant, I'll admit, but a servant nonetheless. The sooner you get that through your head, the better off you will be." Leaving her that raw bone to chew, he stood up, turned down the hallway, and began to walk.

"You bastard half-breed!"

Vincent turned in time to see Ashley's knife slice across his throat, exposing the veins and airways within. Almost immediately, the hole closed itself up, not even leaving a scar.

He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground.

"You have tried my patience for the last time. I despise vampires, but the only reason I have not killed you yet is because you are in Rahab's service, and I wanted to stay on his good side. Now, since you have attempted my life, I am going to take yours – and your soul."

As he bared his teeth, ready to start draining her of vitae, he looked across to see Rahab, Sixty and Steveoh all standing outside the library door, watching him.

He put the petrified Ashley down on her feet gently, bending down to whisper into her ear.

"Let this be a lesson. I don't want to stay here. You can have the old bastard as much as you damn well please. You got lucky this time. Don't try your luck with me again."

He then stood straight up, look squarely at Rahab, bowed and left the manor, skirting the rooms that the rave was in. The next sound was his bike starting and taking off down the driveway.


End file.
